


Dear Henry,

by HollyeLeigh



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Captain Cobra - Freeform, F/M, Father Figures, Fluff and Angst, Letters, Mistaken Identity, dear frankie inspired au, mentions of neal cassidy - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-19
Updated: 2021-03-19
Packaged: 2021-03-28 19:54:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,413
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30144759
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HollyeLeigh/pseuds/HollyeLeigh
Summary: Henry Swan has never met his father. After years of receiving postcards and trading letters with him, Henry may finally get his chance when his father's ship arrives back in Storybrooke. What Henry does not know is someone else will be arriving in father's place, someone with a secret they can no longer keep to themselves. Who is the man who arrives to meet Henry and his mother, and how will his presence alter their lives?
Relationships: Captain Hook | Killian Jones & Henry Mills, Captain Hook | Killian Jones/Emma Swan
Comments: 29
Kudos: 84





	Dear Henry,

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lonelyspectator12](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lonelyspectator12/gifts).



> This fic was inspired by a prompt shared on Discord by @lonelyspectator who requested a Dear Frankie AU. Though I have not seen the movie, the details shared about the film prompted this idea, so please enjoy some Captain Cobra feels with a side of Captain Swan. Thanks to @kmomof4 and @lonelyspectator for giving this the once over!

* * *

Henry Swan has never met his father. A whirlwind romance between his mother and a handsome sailor had concluded with the man’s return to sea and her finding out she was pregnant a few weeks later. After Henry was born, his mother had reached out to the man, Neal Cassidy, informing him of his new status as a father but without asking for or demanding a thing from him. She simply felt he had a right to know and that he could have a role in Henry’s life if he chose to.

The postcards began to arrive a few months later, vibrant images of exotic and far off destinations with a quick note written along the back in a script that seemed too elegant for a sailor’s hand. Henry’s mother, Emma, would read them to him as an infant and toddler, displaying them next to his crib until he was old enough to read them for himself, stashing them away in a wooden box as if they were the most priceless of treasures.

The moment he mastered penning his ABCs, Henry began writing to his father. Sharing with him all the little details of his life as a five year old, a six year old, a seven year old, and on up until now - age eleven. He wrote of his favorite toys, his favorite foods, his favorite activities with his mother, how he liked to play at the beach in his castle where he could _keep a weathered eye on the horizon_ while thumbing through his box of postcards and imagine which new land his father might be visiting at that exact moment, and which one they might travel to together some day. In return, his father sent him wondrous letters filled with all the details and adventure a boy craved. In them he shared his passion and love for the sea, his dedication to his profession, and lessons he wished to impart to his son, despite the distance and circumstances that separated them. Henry treasured each letter as he had every postcard and through the years had to find larger boxes that could accommodate his growing collection.

That was until this past week when he’d received two of the best gifts he could have ever asked for on his birthday. The first, a proper sea chest his mother had commissioned from their local craftsman, Marco, and the second, a letter from his father informing Henry that his ship would be docking in Storybrooke a week after his birthday and that, if his mother were agreeable, he would very much like to see Henry and take him out for an ice cream.

His mother had been reluctant to agree. In fact, she had always been guarded when it came to the subject of Henry’s father and the letters the two of them exchanged. While she had never discouraged the correspondence, Henry had always gotten the impression she wanted to know as little about them as possible, not always able to hide or school her concerned expression or disapproving side eye whenever a new letter arrived. Henry’s pleas and puppy dog eyes had done the trick though, and now here he was sitting in Granny’s diner waiting to meet the man he’d longed for all his life.

He could barely keep still in the booth, eyes fixed on the door as excitement and worry turned cartwheels in his stomach while his mother tried to temper his enthusiasm, preparing him for the likelihood that his father might not be able to come at all. As the minutes ticked past the time his father was scheduled to arrive, Henry’s world began to deflate. His mother suggested they could go down to the docks and make sure his ship hadn’t been delayed then told him to stay put whilst she went to the restroom. She hadn’t been gone long when the bell over the door chimed, signalling the entrance of a tall man in a peacoat and wool scarf with a sailors beanie covering his dark hair.

The man pulled his hat off his head then swept his hand through his hair a few times to try and tame it while his eyes scanned the diner. When they landed on Henry a soft smile pulled at his lips, making his eyes crinkle in their corners. He’d obviously recognized the boy from the recent school portrait Henry had sent him, and with hesitant steps started to make his way over. Henry was frozen in his seat, eyes wide and heart hammering away behind his rib cage. The man stopped at the end of the booth, hat fidgeting in his hands and Adam’s apple bobbing from the heavy way he swallowed.

“Henry?” the man said, his voice soft with a warm lilt that finally prompted Henry into action. “I’m--”

“Dad!” Henry exclaimed, lunging at the man and throwing his arms around his waist, nearly knocking him over with his exuberance.

“I--” the man began again, only to be cut short by Henry’s mother’s outrage.

“Who the hell are you and what are you doing with my son?”

Henry pulled back and stared at his mother, who was marching a war path back towards the booth. “Mom? This is…” Henry swung his eyes up at the man and asked, “Aren’t you my…?”

A soft smile remained on the man’s lips, but the crinkles around his eyes were gone. “I’m afraid not, lad,” the man said before turning his attention towards the angry mother awaiting an explanation. “Killian Jones,” he introduced, holding his hand out towards Henry’s mom. “I work with Neal as ship’s Chief Engineer.”

Emma took the man’s hand, her demeanor relaxing as she shook it and introduced herself in turn. “Let me guess,” she said with knowing resignation. “Neal isn’t coming.”

“Not coming?” Henry cried, tears stinging his eyes. “No. He… he said he would be here. He said we’d--”

“He wanted to be here, lad,” the man, Killian, assured, placing a hand on Henry’s shoulder and giving it a light squeeze. “It couldn’t be helped, though. He… he’s been quarantined and cannot leave the ship. He asked me to come here with his regrets and to… buy you the ice cream he promised.”

“No.” Henry shook his head forlornly. All the things his mother had tried to warn him about over the years threatened to pull him into a riptide of despair as the truth hit him. “If that were true, then you’d be quarantined, too. They wouldn’t have let you off the ship either. He just… he just doesn’t want to see me.” He didn’t need the man to answer, he could see the truth of it ticking away in his jaw and tightening in the grip he still had on his hat.

“Henry, I--”

He didn’t let the man finish, shoving past him and bolting for the door as tears streamed down his face.

“Henry! Lad, wait!” Killian called out, intending to go after him until a hand grabbed his arm.

“Don’t,” Emma said. “I know my kid. He needs his space right now. I’ll go after him when he’s had some time to process his disappointment.”

Killian nodded his concession and scrubbed a hand down his face as he let out a heavy breath. “I’m sorry, lass. I didn’t mean to hurt him.”

“ _Neal_ hurt him,” she reminded, crossing her arms over her chest. “I knew I shouldn’t have agreed to this meeting. I knew, despite the postcards and the letters that Neal didn’t really want the responsibility of being a father and would most likely chicken out at the last minute. He’s never been one to own up to his duty, and that certainly isn’t your fault. None of this is.”

Killian winced and ran his tongue over his lips. “Actually,” he hedged. Guilt and remorse swirled in his forget-me-not eyes as they met hers. “It is.”

Emma cocked her head to one side, brows pinched together in inquiry as she asked, “How so?”

Gesturing towards the booth, Killian slid into the seat across from Henry’s mother and took in a deep breath before beginning his confession.

“When your letter first arrived ten years ago, Neal struggled with how to respond. He wanted to reply, wanted to have some sort of connection to his son, but he didn’t know what to do or how involved he truly wished to be. I encouraged him to start small. To send something that would keep the lines of communication open.”

“The postcards.”

“Aye,” Killian confirmed. “He picked one out during our first shore leave after receiving your letter and a few days went by before he finally came to me asking for help with what to say. After several attempts he shoved the card and pen in my direction and said, ’ _you write it. You’re better with words_ ’, so… I did.”

“ _You_ sent Henry all those postcards and letters?”

Unsure of how to take the woman’s astonished expression and tone, Killian pressed on, “I never intended to,” he said. “But during our next shore leave, Neal picked out another postcard and asked me to write his son another note. Said you would notice the difference in our handwriting and he didn’t want to do anything that might prevent you from letting Henry have them. He picked out every postcard with Henry in mind, I just… supplied the words.”

“And when Henry started writing letters?” she asked in an accusatory tone. “Did Neal even read them or has Henry really been corresponding with _you_ all this time?”

“I assure you, love,” Killian professed. “Neal has read every single one of Henry’s letters and has cherished them all. Every sentiment I’ve written back has come from Henry’s father.” Reaching up Killian scratched at the infernal patch behind his ear that always seemed to flare up when he became nervous. “Though, I admit that much of my own affections towards your boy may have worked their way onto the pages as well.” Furtively, he glanced up at her through his lashes, gauging her response and relieved to find no anger directed his way in her expression, which appeared quite touched.

Wetting her lips, an action he found far too alluring given who she was and on whose behalf he was currently there for, she tucked a section of her loose, golden curls behind her ear and said, “You must be a really good friend, writing all those letters for Neal. Whatever possessed you to agree to it in the first place, much less keep going?”

Rubbing the back of his neck in discomfort, Killian sucked his lips between his teeth and weighed his response. With a heavy sigh he revealed, “My father left my brother and me when we weren’t much older than Henry. When Neal slid that first postcard my way, all I could think was… what I wouldn’t have given to have received something from my father. To know he thought of me on occasion, that he still held some small measure of fatherly affection towards me. I didn’t want Neal’s son to grow up as I did, as _he_ did, and given his willingness to reach out by purchasing the postcard in the first place, I thought it only a matter of time before he stepped up and…”

“Whose idea was it to set up the meeting?” Emma asked.

“Mine,” Killian answered barely above a whisper. “But he agreed to it right away. Never showed even a moment’s hesitation until…”

Emma nodded her head knowingly. “Yeah. That sounds like him.”

“So, what now?” Killian asked. “I feel terrible. I’d like the chance to tell Henry I’m sorry, to tell him the whole truth, but I don’t want to make matters worse.”

“Come on,” she said, getting up from the booth. “We’ll go tell him together.”

“You know where he is?”

“I’m his mother. Of course I know where he is.” Flicking her eyes up to him, she arched one her brows and a smirk twitched at the corner of her lips. “You should, too, seeing as how you’ve been his pen pal all these years.”

Killian stood, brows furrowed as he followed her out the door. When she turned towards the sea Killian knew immediately where the lad had gone.

“His castle.”

Looking back at him over her shoulder, Emma smiled then instructed, “I’ll talk with him first, then wave you over if he feels up to speaking with you. Sound good?”

“Aye,” Killian replied, falling in step beside her. “Thank you, love.”

Killian waited, hands tucked in his pockets as he watched mother and son discuss all that had occurred that morning. _Neal Cassidy is a damn fool_ , Killian muttered to himself. How the man could have ever let a woman like Emma Swan slip through his fingers, he’d never know. Killian had already known what a remarkable lad his mate’s son was, and never understood why he wasn’t willing to put forth a greater effort with the boy. Now that he had met the beautiful, fierce, incredible woman who had raised Henry all on her own, Killian wanted nothing more than to go beat some sense into the man for not appreciating the precious treasure he could have rightfully claimed long ago, even knowing the bloody wanker truly did not deserve either of them.

The salty air scratched the back of Killian’s throat as he drew in a deep breath at having been summoned by Emma. His feet sank into the sand, his footfalls heavy with trepidation over what all she had disclosed to the lad and what his reaction would be. When Emma stood, she offered the spot next to Henry to him then stepped back, still within ear shot but offering them a semblance of privacy. Henry’s arms were folded on top of his knees which were bent into his chest, his chin resting on his forearms as he gazed out into the harbour. Tear tracks were still visible on his cheeks, making Killian’s chest tighten painfully.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t honest with you, Henry,” Killian murmured softly over the ripple of the surf. “About your father.”

Long moments stretched between them before Henry finally replied. “Mom says you’re the one who’s been writing to me. That you wrote on my dad’s behalf because he… Is that true?”

“Aye,” Killian answered, his heart squeezing a bit more in the vice Henry’s continued avoidance of looking in his direction had started to apply within his chest cavity.

“Does he even care about me at all?” Henry whispered on a small sob, tucking his face down into his arms and knees as his body shook from fresh tears.

Panicked, Killian wrapped his arm around the boy’s shoulders, barely aware of his mother’s rush forward until she was crouched down at her son’s other side, rubbing soothing circles over his back.

“Henry, listen to me,” Killian said with a gentle command. “Your father _does_ care about you, but he is a deeply flawed man. He’s never been any good at taking responsibility, and well, fatherhood is a _big_ responsibility. That doesn’t mean he does not love you, though. He just...”

Killian sighed, feeling woefully out of his depth. How did one tell a young boy that his father was a selfish coward only concerned with his own comfort and contentment? Caught between wanting to tell Henry the truth and not wishing to hurt him further, Killian turned his eyes to Emma who seemed just as lost and unsure as he did as she continued to offer her comforting touch while her teeth worried her bottom lip. The two of them gazed at one another for a moment and Killian felt his mouth go dry at the prospect of disappointing either of them.

“You know something, Henry,” Killian said. “You and your dad have something in common. His father wasn’t around much when he was young either. He never had anyone to teach him those important lessons of duty, responsibility, and good form.” Henry slowly lifted his head, sniffling as he looked up at Killian with watery eyes. “That doesn’t excuse the bad choices he’s made in his life. I only mention it, because I want you to understand it isn’t _you_ , Henry. Him not coming here today to meet you is about _him_ and _his_ shortcomings, not you. You are brilliant, and you and your mum have a good life together full of people who love and support you. I know it isn’t the same, but believe me when I tell you how lucky you are to have all of that.”

“I know,” Henry mumbled against his sleeves, wiping away the tears that still clung to his face. “Mom’s always said we didn’t need him in our lives, but every time I got a letter--”

“I never should have let that go on for as long as I did, Henry. I’m sorry. I set you up for disappointment and--”

“No!” Henry exclaimed. “I’m glad you wrote them. I never would have gotten to hear all those wonderful stories or learn about all the places my dad has been. I wouldn’t know anything about him at all without them, and he wouldn’t know anything about me either.” Henry cast his gaze back out to sea, quiet reflection washing over him as he struck Killian, not for the first time, as one older and wiser than his years. “I want him to know me,” he said with resolve, “So I’m going to keep writing to him and maybe one day, he’ll be the one who writes back.”

“Aye,” Killian replied, his heart sinking a bit more. “There’s something else you should know, lad.” Henry stared up at him, the brown hue every bit his father’s, and Killian could also feel Emma’s sea glass eyes on him as well. “One of the reasons I tried to convince your father to meet with you today is so he could tell you the truth about the letters. It’s the reason I came when he refused at the last minute, I didn’t want you to get the wrong idea when they suddenly stopped.”

“Stopped?” Henry repeated in a troubled tone, until a sense of sad comprehension dawned on him. “I guess you’re tired of writing to me, huh?”

“Not at all,” Killian countered quickly. “The fact is, I’m being transferred to a different ship and won’t be sailing with your father any longer. So, I won’t be there when he receives your letters, I won’t be able to reply back to you. It’s my hope he’ll respond to you on his own, but I knew a smart lad like you would notice the change in writing, so I told him he ought to come clean about it before I move on.”

“When do you--”

“Tomorrow,” Killian answered. “I report first thing after my new ship docks with the morning tide. My transfer is the reason we’re here in the first place.”

“Well…” Henry started, glancing over at his mother briefly before turning pleading eyes back towards Killian. “Couldn’t you still write to me anyway?”

Air rushed from Killian’s lungs. “I would like nothing more, lad.” Flicking his own gaze Swan’s way, he added, “If your mother is agreeable, that is.”

Having been silent all this time, Swan pursed her lips together and considered the matter before answering, “I’ll think it over.”

When she flicked her eyes his way, Killian knew she needed more time to make a decision about whether his interest in Henry was truly genuine, or if he had only been writing because of Neal. He didn’t blame her for not wanting her son’s hopes to be raised again, only for them to be dashed because another man had broken yet another promise.

Dissatisfied with her answer, Henry’s shoulders slumped, but then he looked up at his mother once more and requested, “Could he at least buy me the ice cream dad promised?”

Try as she might, Emma couldn’t quite keep the smile off her face in response to her son’s restored mood. Glancing over at Killian to gauge his reaction, his own dashing smile was the only answer she needed.

“Sure, kid,” she said, standing up and brushing the sand off her jeans, noting the way Killian’s eyes lingered on her curves. “Let’s go.”

Emma hadn’t known what to think of Killian Jones when he’d introduced himself earlier that day in the diner. While she had always suspected those letters hadn’t been from Neal, sounding nothing like the man she’d known for only a few short weeks before he’d run off to sea rather than face the consequences of their recklessness - a detail she had kept from Henry all his life, letting him believe neither of them had known she was pregnant until after he was gone - it had still been a shock to learn this handsome stranger had been corresponding with her son all these years. She’d wanted to be angry with him, and was until he’d shared his reasoning, telling her about his own abandonment and how he hadn’t wanted her son to suffer as he had. The vulnerability he’d been willing to expose in that moment had given her pause and forced her to see him in a fresh light. He hadn’t set out to hurt Henry, he had wanted to protect him, to give him his best chance to one day have a relationship with his father. It wasn’t Killian’s fault that Neal was incapable of rising to the occasion.

Fortunately for Henry, Killian was more than capable of being the man Henry deserved to have in his life, and if that thought didn’t knock Emma for a loop then the rest of the day spent in his presence surely had.

They’d gone for ice cream, where Emma had watched as Killian patiently answered all the questions her son peppered him with, just as eager to know more about the man herself. Where he was from, what growing up in England had been like, what happened to his family, how he had come to make a living at sea were all curiosities thrown his way and with each answer Emma felt the connection between them deepen as too many similarities, too many points of understanding, and too many significant looks were revealed and exchanged over the course of the day.

When the time came that he walked them back to their house, his shore leave quickly coming to an end, Emma wasn’t sure if she was relieved for the reprieve from all the emotional turmoil his entrance into their lives had brought with him, or despondent over the fact he’d be leaving them so soon. It was clear from the way her son dragged his feet that Henry was not looking forward to parting ways with Killian. After years of exchanging letters with one another it should have come as no surprise that an amount of affection and camaraderie already existed between them, yet Emma had been taken aback by how good Killian was with Henry and that his interest _was_ genuine. He truly cared for her son and if she hadn’t already been attracted to the man’s _devilishly handsome_ looks and ridiculously sexy voice, that fact alone would have been enough for her to acknowledge it was definitely the latter response she was experiencing more than the former.

“Thanks for coming to meet me today, Killian,” Henry said when they all arrived at the doorstep.

“The pleasure was all mine, my boy,” Killian replied, accepting the tight hug Henry offered and ruffling his hair affectionately.

“Why don’t you go get ready for bed, kid,” Emma said. “Let me have a minute to talk with Killian before he has to go.”

A surprised grunt reverberated from Killian’s chest when Henry hugged him again, a muffled _I’ll miss you_ whispered into the man’s coat before Henry darted inside, leaving both adults alone on the porch with a sudden awkwardness hanging between them.

The nervous tick Emma had noted throughout the day returned as Killian scratched at his ear, and she bit her lip to keep from smiling endearingly at him.

“I, uh…” he began tentatively. “I want to thank you for allowing me to spend time with him… and you. I had a wonderful time today.”

“Me, too,” she confessed, tucking her hands into her back pockets and taking a step towards him. “And I want you to know that I have no problem with you writing to him, if you want to continue to do so.”

“I do,” he rushed to confirm, a pink hue tinting his cheeks as he dipped his head briefly before looking back up at her beneath those lush eyelashes of his. Taking a step of his own he entered her personal space and inquired, “Perhaps, you wouldn’t mind if I occasionally addressed a letter to you as well?”

His tone was soft but the words held an underlying tension that made the atmosphere thicken around them as he awaited her response.

“I’d like that,” she told him, swaying in closer. “I might even write back.”

Killian hummed, his eyes flicking down towards her mouth when she ran her tongue over her lips, then gazed back up at her and wet his own before mentioning, “You know… this transfer means I’ll be making my way back to Storybrooke more often.”

“Oh?”

“Quite regularly, as a matter of fact.”

“Is that so?” “Aye,” he breathed, both of them clearly fixated on only one thought in that moment. “Do you think you can handle another visit from me in the next few weeks?”

Grabbing him by the lapels of his jacket, Emma pulled his mouth to hers and kissed him with every bit of anticipation she felt over such a prospect. “I think I can handle that,” she whispered against his lips when they both paused to take a much needed breath before diving back in once more.

Breathless and looking thoroughly wrecked, Killian pulled away with a great deal of reluctance when he could no longer put off returning for duty. Taking her hand, he raised it to his lips and brushed a soft kiss along the backs of her knuckles, promising, “Not a day will go by I won’t think of you.”

“Good,” Emma replied with a smile that held a different sort of promise. One they made good on a few weeks later, and for many more years after.


End file.
